


Straight to Video

by ant5b



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 2018), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-11-02 01:25:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20574827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ant5b/pseuds/ant5b
Summary: “I’m recording this now because I want you to know how much you mean to me, just in case...well, in case I don’t get to say it to you again.”





	Straight to Video

Launchpad found the recording by accident. 

He was cleaning up around one of the big computers in the tower. As meticulous as Drake had always been with his Darkwing Duck memorabilia, inversely he was equally terrible at basic workspace organization, especially when it came to their case files. They had a digital version of everything of course, but paper copies were indispensible as backups in case their servers were hacked into or Gosalyn crashed them trying to download Legends of Legend Quest. The only trouble was that Drake never put them back in their filing cabinets, and amidst the messy stacks further disarray had spread. 

The computer console was barely even visible under the mountain of files, empty coffee cups, and scattered notes scrawled on lined paper and sticky notes alike. Plus, no one had been to the hideout in weeks, and there was a fine layer of dust over everything. 

Launchpad set to clearing away the mess. He was able to correctly file at least half of the folders until one of the empty coffee cups he picked up wasn’t as empty as he thought. In his panic to mop up the spill, he flicked some myriad number of switches and turned a handful of dials, until the computer screen blared blue, then green, and then began playing a recording of Drake that had been made a month before the accident. 

Drake was in the Darkwing costume, sans the hat or mask. He was sitting in the very chair that was beside Launchpad now, looking grave even as he smiled at the camera. 

_ “Hey, LP. I, uh..” _ Drake looked away, chuckling under his breath. “ _ I don’t really know how to start this. Uh… how are you?” _ He grimaced, clenching his eyes shut in a familiar show of mortification that Launchpad had always found charming. _ “Okay, that was bad. I’ll find some way to edit that out. I can probably do that. Yeah. Anyway.” _

Drake looked back at the camera, his smile becoming something more gentle and wry. _ “Launchpad,” _ he said, and never had Launchpad heard his name spoken with such import, like it was a world all its own. _ “I don’t know if you’ll even see this message. I might delete it before you ever do. I might have to record another. If I’m lucky, maybe a third and a fourth. But I’m recording this now because I want you to know how much you mean to me, just in case...well, in case I don’t get to say it to you again.” _

Launchpad tried and failed to swallow the stone in his throat, his mouth as dry as parchment. His knees trembled like they were made of water and he barely managed to grip the armrest of the chair beside him and lower himself onto the seat before he could collapse onto it. 

On screen, Drake sighed, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his bent knees. _ “Our job’s dangerous,” _ he began matter-of-factly, _ “we knew that going in. But between the two of us, we both know that I’m the one always throwing themselves into danger, usually unnecessarily. Knowing me, I’m just as likely to have kicked the bucket running into a burning building to save a bunch of widows and orphans as I am to have gotten my cape stuck in a trash compactor.” _

His following chuckle quickly turned strained, and Drake tiredly scrubbed a hand up his face and into his hair. 

_ “I’ll edit that out too,” _he said quietly, pressing his hand against his forehead. 

_ “Launchpad...God.” _ Drake rubbed the space between his eyes, laughing softly. _ “I hope you never see this, if only because I’m going to ask you to marry me. Any day now, in fact. I’ve had the ring for two months already, but I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to ask. Y’know, when I stop chickening out. So if everything goes well, I’ll have popped the question before I died and you’ll never have to watch this.” _

Drake sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked up at the camera again, expression somber, and Launchpad felt as though a fist of ice had wrapped around his heart and begun to squeeze. 

_ “But I made myself sit down and record this _ just in case. _ In case I don’t get to ask. In case I don’t get to tell you how much you mean to me again. Because you and Gosalyn are my life. I wouldn’t be a good Darkwing or a good father or even a good person if I hadn’t met you.” _

Drake cleared his throat with a harsh cough and rubbed roughly at his eye with the heel of his palm, dashing tears that the camera couldn’t catch. _ “There’s a video for Gos too, if she even wants anything to do with me after I bailed on her. If she doesn’t want to watch it can you...can you tell her I love her? Tell her that she was the best thing to ever happen to me, and I’ll always be so proud of her. _

_ “Geez,” _ Drake snorted, his voice thick as he rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, _ “I’ve gotta wrap this up. I already know you’re a crier, LP, I don’t want to make things worse by turning into a mess too. I just...all I want to say is that if I never see you again, if something stupid happens and you don’t get stuck with me for the rest of our lives, just know that I love you so, so much.” _

He smiled, wobbly and tearful but brilliant and bright even through the screen. _ “That’s all I wanted to say. Well, that, and you load the dishwasher wrong. I didn’t want to be the one to tell you, but I figure it’s best you hear it from me than from Gos. Little bowls go on top, big plates on the bottom. _

_ “I love you, Launchpad. More than anything. I really hope you never see this.” _

The screen froze on Drake’s chagrined expression before going dark entirely. In the black monitor Launchpad saw his reflection for the first time in minutes, saw the tears that had been making tracks down the feathers of his cheeks. He gasped, and had trouble drawing breath. 

Some immeasurable amount of time later, he became distantly aware of the elevator door opening and of a voice calling his name. But it wasn’t until the voice was coming from ten feet away that he truly heard it. 

“Launchpad?” Drake said agitatedly as he rushed over to him, after clumsily scaling the ladder leading to the platform with his left arm in a sling. 

Numbly, Launchpad turned to face Drake as he hurried to his side. He squeezed Launchpad’s shoulder with his free hand, searching his face. 

“Launchpad, what’s wrong?” Drake insisted, expression knit in carefully controlled panic, “What happened?” 

Fairly certain that he couldn’t speak if he tried, Launchpad wrapped his arms around Drake’s waist and pulled him into his lap. He was mindful of Drake’s arm, of his broken ribs that were still mending. Bandages peeked out from beneath his flannel shirt even now, weeks after the accident, and the sight of them now sent Launchpad further into his spiral of misery. 

Drake, upon realizing that Launchpad couldn’t answer, stopped asking questions. He propped his chin on Launchpad’s shoulder and rubbed his back, letting him take his time to collect himself. Launchpad fell in love with him all over again, but his heartache only worsened. 

“I um…” Launchpad trailed off, his voice hoarse. Drake rubbed his back in a wide circle, and it was more comforting than could be put into words. Launchpad steeled himself. “I-I watched your video, Drake.”

“My video?” Drake repeated, not comprehending. He leaned back in the circle of Launchpad’s embrace, just enough to get a glimpse of his face. Launchpad was certain that his devastation shown plainly, because within seconds Drake’s expression had slackened in horror. 

“No—no, there’s no way,” Drake blurted, clumsily scrambling out of Launchpad’s lap. He flicked a switch to reactivate the computer screen. “You couldn’t have…”

The last shot of the video was still displayed on the monitor, the Drake of a month past frozen in aggrieved stillness. The Drake of today, still bruised and battered from his latest encounter with Negaduck, raised a hand to his beak in utter dismay. 

“Launchpad,” he said at once, whirling back around, “Launchpad, I’m so sorry you had to see that. It wasn’t—you shouldn’t have seen that.”

“Drake,” he croaked, “why would you…”His eyes burning anew with tears, Launchpad found himself unable to speak. In an attempt to keep his emotions in check his gritted his teeth, and his jaw creaked. 

“Hey,” Drake murmured, remorse making the exhausted shadows beneath his eyes that much darker. “Come here, honey.” He stepped forward and reached for Launchpad’s hand, tugging gently. With careful direction, Launchpad joined him on the floor, his back against the side of the computer and Drake seated carefully between his legs. 

“You weren’t meant to see that,” Drake said softly. 

“Wasn’t I?” Launchpad countered. 

Drake shook his head, rubbing his eyes with his good hand. 

“I changed my mind after I filmed it. I hated the idea of...of preparing for my death like it was a sure thing. I mean, obviously I’m going to die one day, unless I can get ahold of McDuck’s dietitian. But I want to look forward to every new day, not look at it as a countdown. I want to see Gosalyn grow up, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So that’s what I’m going to do.”

Launchpad took up Drake’s hand in his own, kissing the ring on his finger. “I like that plan,” he said quietly, like it was a secret, as if he hadn’t shouted the news to every passerby they’d encountered on their way back home that evening. 

Drake entwined their hands and their rings clinked together. “Me too,” he said seriously, his gaze burning with determination and promise, and the last of Launchpad’s fears melted away in its warmth. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
